A single Day and Night of Misfortune
by Moehre89
Summary: Ever since he lost Atlantis to the waves of the ocean, Islington has been keeping to himself, depressed and refusing any kind of contact with his kin. And so his older brother, Westminster, seeks out Lambeth, ex-soldier of the heavenly army and now guardian of London Above, to keep a helpful eye on his brother, the guardian of London Below.
1. Chapter 01 - Lambeth's other Assignment

Disclaimer

Hi everyone!

Welcome to my very first submission.

First things first: neither Neverwhere nor Sherlock are mine, I just let their characters do whatever I please because I desperately needed another crossover!

Second: I don't get any money out of this!

Third: Thanks to my wonderful Beta cautiousAlbatross! Any remaining errors are mine and mine alone.

I can't promise regular uploads, because I will be off to work again in a week, but I am a few chapter into the story already.

Plus I will try and finish as long as I have the free time on my hands.

Well, have fun!

* * *

A single Day and Night of Misfortune

Chapter 01 - Lambeth's other Assignment

9583 B.C. – Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean

Islington stood alone on a rock protruding from the deep waters surrounding him. His face was covered in silent tears as he watched his dominion, and with it his wards, being swallowed by hungry waves.

Only moments before the ground far beneath the waters had suddenly shaken, a long tear breaking open the aged stone. The water, disturbed in its usual movements, rebelled and started to devour everything in its reach.

He could still hear their terrified screams, their pleas to help them, to save them from their demise. But Islington had not known how.

So he had left.

Now all that remained for him to do was watch, helpless, as the island, his home, his Atlantis sank under the ocean's assault.

He didn't know what to do next. He was a young Angel, only a few millennia old. Atlantis had been his first city to govern. His brother had warned him to watch closely over these humans.

'They are trying to reach too far,' his brother had said.

And Islington had watched. He had looked out for his children, had tried to guide them, to protect them from the dangerous path they had trod upon. But to no avail.

A hand touched his shoulder and Islington turned around. Westminster, his older brother, was standing next to him, his face stricken with grief and worry.

'Islington,' he said, 'What have you done...?'

* * *

2009 A.D. – London Above, City of Westminster, Spring

Lambeth was bored.

Really bored.

Who would've thought that the metropolis of London was so easy to protect? There wasn't much more to do than to scoop up a nearly-drowning child from the Thames now and then or to guide the odd junkie close to their next OD to the nearest hospital.

Quite simple.

The blond Angel sighed.

He would rather be back in Afghanistan fighting Demons in the burning desert, preventing them from taking over the warring humans, than sitting here doing nothing and being miserable.

The Angel stood up, reached for his cane and limped towards the kitchen. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder he switched on the kettle and prepared a cup of tea.

Lambeth understood why he had been assigned to guard this city. It was perfectly reasonable.

Only a few years ago he had been attacked by a group of Nigrum Diaboli and had narrowly escaped their assault, injured but alive. But the injury to his left shoulder had festered and although he had been one of the best healers in his unit, the high fever and the delusions had prevented him from treating himself. The treatment of the attending healer had cost him his ability to wield a sword and left him with unyielding pain in his right leg.

Unfit to fight a war.

But he was well known for his reason, his endurance under pressure and his ability to lead and guide those under his command.

And so he was given the new task to govern this city, which was always teetering on a knife's edge. One wrong step and it would be overrun by chaos and terror.

That should have been a consoling thought for Lambeth.

And it would have been if it were still the 18th century - or maybe even the 19th, or just a city Below. Humans Above believed differently about their creator now, if at all. Angels guiding a city Above used to live out in the open, among their wards, and had been involved with every aspect of their religion, their politics and their culture. But these days humans from Above could no longer see Angels, and those few who could didn't believe in what they saw.

Now only Below was an Angel's council truly valued.

So Angels Above lived in hiding, biding their time in their citadels and keeping an eye on their city from afar.

Lambeth stepped, his tea in hand, over to the window, sat down on the sill and regarded his citadel with a fond look.

He liked his home.

The Angel Westminster had done a good job finding this spot for him, even though it was a bit big for only one person. He had seen bigger citadels, more grandiose and divine than some of Heaven's halls but he detested those cold, large and empty places. His place was a nice flat with two bedrooms, a bath, a kitchen and a large sitting room. Especially nice were the walls, which were adorned with many different types of wallpaper. This flat had character, something Lambeth appreciated in a home.

Lambeth turned around and looked down to the street.

He watched humans going about their business and thought about taking a walk. He could walk to Regent's Park, sit on a bench and watch over the children on the playground, protecting them from the recently increasing number of kidnappers and paedophiles.

Or he could go and visit Old Bailey, that old birdbrain, and ask him what was going on Below.

A grin split Lambeth's lips.

Maybe he would visit one of the smaller Boroughs like Kensington and get up to some mischief.

Ever since Lambeth had come to London Above he would go outside once he got too riled up at home and play pranks on the humans. Not dangerous pranks, but with enough malicious intent to keep them on their toes.

Little things like hiding car keys or unplugging the telly helped him through his darker moods.

On those little trips around London Above he often encountered situations more fitting to his imagination of a guardian.

One night he had stopped the mugging of a woman by impelling the mugger to go back home. On another night he had found a young boy who'd gotten lost in the dark after playing for too long with his friends. It had been one of the rare nights he had let a human see him in his real form. He had picked the boy up, had shielded him with his wings from the rain and had given him one of his white feathers after he had brought him home.

Lambeth yawned.

'What to do, what to do?' he whispered to himself.

'How about a quick visit to London Below?' a voice behind him said.

'Jesus!'

Lambeth's body jerked in sudden surprise, spilling his remaining - and thankfully only lukewarm - tea over his hands. He looked up and saw the Angel Westminster sitting in one of the two chairs near the fireplace, a smug grin on his face. He was, as usual, dressed in his favourite brown three-piece suit and twirling an umbrella in his hand.

'Good day, Lambeth. I trust I find you in good spirits?'

'Well,' Lambeth grabbed a nearby handkerchief and dried his hands, 'I would be in good spirits, but since you're here...'

Lambeth didn't like Westminster, and never had. The Angel Westminster was younger than Lambeth but held a far higher position in Heaven than him - and enjoyed reminding him about it, repeatedly. It was Westminster who had assigned him to guard London Above.

Every now and then the younger Angel would just pop up in his home unannounced and interrogate Lambeth about his days and duties.

Lambeth couldn't help but scowl at that thought.

Westminster sighed and shook his head.

'Oh Lambeth, don't be so boring. You know I only have the best in mind for you. Of all the places you could have ended up in, London was the most logical choice. You do have a good life here, from what I've heard. And you do know that you can spend the money we provide you with, don't you?'

Westminster eyed Lambeth's attire with a disdainful look.

Lambeth hated it when Westminster judged his style of clothing. He felt comfortable in his jeans and woolly jumpers. After hundreds of years in the deserts of the world London was constantly too cold for him. Only the summer heat gave Lambeth some relief and, even then, he wore long-sleeved shirts.

The blond Angel rolled his eyes stood up to walk into the kitchen.

'Yeah, whatever, Westminster. Do you want some tea? I'm sure you're here for a reason, aren't you?'

'Yes, actually,' Westminster crossed his legs and leaned back, cleaning his trousers of imaginary lint, 'Lambeth, I have another assignment for you.'

* * *

2009 A.D. – London Below, The Citadel of the Angel Islington

Why was his life so dull again? Oh right - he was in hell!

Islington groaned, rolled around the mattress of his spacious bed and pulled desperately on his dark curls.

And here he had thought life in London Below would be exciting and challenging. It had been at first: the new order of things, the uniqueness of the people and the unwritten rules of old magic running deep through the watery ways of the sewers. Islington hadn't felt so alive since he had lost his first city.

But now...

He let go of his hair and stared up to the invisible ceiling.

His citadel was really worthy of its name. The room around him resembled the nave of a Gothic church. High white stone walls interrupted by half round wall pillars supporting a ceiling so far up that neither human nor angelic eye could catch a glimpse of it. Embedded into the walls were strong wooden bookshelves filled with the knowledge of the world.

At the far end of the room, beneath stained glass windows showing biblical scenes of the Holy Mary and God's only human son, stood Islington's bed.

A broad flight of stairs led to a gallery filled with more books, a table and chairs.

Islington sighed. His rooms really resembled his current situation rather well.

Quite empty.

After he first took residence in London Below his mind had been ablaze with the new experiences. He had talked with the rats and pigeons for days, followed the Rat-Speakers and the Sewer-Folk down to the deepest tunnels and had learned not to get too close to the great Beast of London.

The excitement lasted for a couple of millennia but now he was bored out of his ever-working mind. He had read all the books he could find, had established a network of animals and people to provide him with a steady flow of information about his wards.

Now there was nothing to do.

Now the Beast drove him wild with its antics down in the maze.

Wasn't there anything not dull around?

He missed his Atlantic children.

A shudder ran down his spine as he remembered that night in the middle of the ocean. He could still hear the screams of the women and children, the men's curses, his brother's disappointed voice.

He wouldn't make the same mistake twice. His love for his Atlantic children had made him blind to their warring nature and their greed to reach the realm of God. And he had been punished. Punished by the constant feeling of failure, by the disdainful looks of his fellow Angels.

So he had withdrawn himself from them, had grown to hate them and their disdainful looks and their simple minds. When his brother Westminster had suggested he take residence in London Below, on Earth, Islington had gladly accepted.

He stood and walked over to the nearest bookshelf, grabbed the first book he could find and turned the pages.

Hmm, bee-keeping. He hadn't read this book for quite a while.

Islington turned around, climbed the stairs to the gallery and sat down on one of the heavy chairs.

He was up to the third chapter about the proper care of beehives when he heard a knock.

Black curls jumped as Islington jerked up his head.

Was that a knock?

He had definitely heard a knock.

He seldom received visitors these days. The urgent matters of Below were few and usually well taken care of after Islington's own instructions left with the leaders of the different fiefdoms.

And who would enter through the Angelus?

Islington stepped to the banister and saw the heavy wooden doors open.

In stepped a short middle aged man with blond hair wearing blue washed out jeans, a red checked shirt and a truly hideous oatmeal coloured jumper covered with a black jacked.

His right hand held a cane.

He looked like a man from Above.

How could someone from Above know about the Angelus?

'Hello? Anybody home?' the visitor called.

No, the man was not human. He was an Angel, like Islington.

A scowl made his way on Islington's face.

'What is your business here?' Islington asked, his voice loud and angry.

For what purpose would an Angel set foot in another Angel's domain?

Blue eyes caught his gaze and a smile bloomed on the visitor's face.

'Ah, there you are! You must be Islington. Nice to meet you. It has been quite a while since I last saw anything of London Below. And your citadel is...well...impressive. Yes, really impressive.'

The visitor looked around and stepped further into the room.

Islington grew impatient.

'Who are you and what do you want?'

The blond Angel turned back to him, his left hand in the pocket of his trousers.

'Oh, right! You don't know yet. Westminster warned me about your attitude.'

Islington felt the feathers of his hidden wings bristle upon hearing his brother's name.

'By all that is holy, what is it you want? I hate repeating myself!'

The visitor tilted his head to the left and looked up to Islington with a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

'My name is Lambeth, Guardian of London Above, and I am you new keeper.'

* * *

Well, that was the first chapter.

I hope you enjoyed it!

Like every writer here, I appreciate reviews.

Until next time!

Moehre89


	2. Chapter 02 - Islington's new Keeper

Disclaimer

Hello again!

Welcome to the second chapter.

I hope you had fun so far.

First things first: neither Neverwhere nor Sherlock are mine, I just let their characters do whatever I please because I desperately needed another crossover!

Second: I don't get any money out of this!

Third: Thanks to my wonderful Beta cautiousAlbatross! Any remaining errors are mine and mine alone.

I think I'll try to upload weekly on every saturday.

That should give me enough time to coordinate work and writing.

Sit back and enjoy!

* * *

A single Day and Night of Misfortune

Chapter 02 - Islington's new Keeper

2009 A.D. – London Below, The Citadel of the Angel Islington

_The visitor tilted his head to the left and looked up at Islington with a hint of curiosity in his eyes._

_'My name is Lambeth, Guardian of London Above, and I am your new keeper.'_

Lambeth observed the Angel standing by the banister. Apparently Islington's brain had a problem keeping up with the conversation, considering how his face had lost any kind of expression.

The blond angel used the moment of surprised silence to step further into the hall.

Good Lord, this place was big!

And where in heaven was the ceiling?

'Are those white fluffy things up there really clouds?' Lambeth whispered to himself.

No wonder that this Islington had supposedly gone around the bend, according to his overly protective older brother. Lambeth would have surely gone insane having to live here for the unforeseeable future.

Well, the candle-holders lining every bookshelf-free patch of wall were nice, at least.

Still...

'Ah, rejoined the here and now, have you?' Lambeth greeted the approaching figure climbing down the stairs.

Islington was the picture of heavenly rage: his pale blue eyes were on fire; his hands were clenched tight. In his outrage he had even revealed his wings, every feather trembling with indignation.

The fuming Angel was dressed in a fine purple shirt with a black and expensive but simple suit. By the heavens, thought Lambeth, this guy not only lived posh, he even dressed it.

'What is this supposed to mean? Keeper? Why would I need a keeper?' Islington huffed.

Lambeth bent down, holding back a pained wince as he felt a twitch in his shoulder, and picked up a feather that had come loose from Islington's left wing and fallen to the floor.

He twirled it between his thumb and index finger.

'Well, you know, a keeper. A babysitter. A person who looks after you. As it seems, your big brother, my constant pain in the wing, thinks you need someone to keep you company. And believe me, I'm not too happy about this, either.'

* * *

_2009 A.D. – London Above, City of Westminster, Spring_

_'Lambeth, I have another assignment for you.'_

_Lambeth halted on his way to the kitchen and glanced at Westminster._

'_Another? As in 'a new one'? Or 'one more'?'_

_Westminster closed his eyes and nodded._

'_The second, I'm afraid. I know you are terribly busy and it pains me to inconvenience you so but I must insist on you humouring me and my selfish wishes.'_

_Lambeth hesitated, then made his way to the kettle and switched it on._

'_As if I have a choice. What will this other assignment be, then?'_

_The blond Angel filled two cups with steaming water, placed them on the kitchen table and sat down. Westminster followed his example, not without a pout at having to move, and took his seat across from Lambeth._

_The younger Angel took a sip from his tea._

'_I want you to go to London Below and meet my younger brother, Islington.'_

'_I've heard of your brother before. All I know about him is that he guards Below now, after a rather long absence from the society of Heaven. I've never met him, though.'_

'_Indeed, my brother's absence from our home has always been one of many reasons for gossip among our kin. But let's not talk about that now.'_

_Lambeth toyed with his cup's handle._

'_And what exactly am I supposed to do after meeting Islington?'_

_Westminster pinned him with a hard look._

'_I want you to keep an eye on him.'_

_The blond Angel chuckled._

'_And how am I supposed to do that? It's not usual for one Angel to cross the borders of another Angel's domain - you know that, Westminster. Besides, I can't leave this place. It is my duty to remain here and watch over the city 24/7 for the rest of eternity, mind you.'_

_With a smile on his lips, Westminster leaned against the back of the chair._

'_I already solved that problem. You and Islington have permission to move freely between London Above and Below. Lambeth, I want you to constantly be by my brother's side. Thanks to his brilliant mind, Islington made it possible for the fiefdoms of Below to act after his will should a situation arise. And you, with your limited power to interact with your environment, being a guardian of Above, have enough time on your hands to take a little trip now and then. And don't tell me you are not bored, Lambeth, I can see it in the way you hold your shoulders.'_

_Lambeth felt his temper rising. What the hell? Westminster was the one who had given him this assignment. Now he said Lambeth had too much free time?_

'_You're a prick, you know that, right?' the blond mumbled into his cup._

_He leaned back and frowned at Westminster._

'_And why exactly does your brother need a babysitter all of a sudden?'_

'_It is not a recent development. I have been thinking about this for quite a while now, but never found the right person to meet my demands. Then I remembered you. You see, Islington is...challenging. He has a brilliant mind and abhors the company of any of our kin. But he is more restless than usual, lately. And I think some distraction can only do him good. As it will for you, I assure you. I am confident you will find his company...invigorating.'_

_A defeated sigh escaped Lambeth's lips as he rested his chin against his left palm._

'_Yeah, yeah, whatever. I know I can't decline. So, when do you want me to meet your baby brother?'_

* * *

2009 A.D. – London Below, The Citadel of the Angel Islington

'And here I am,' finished Lambeth, 'I must admit, it is nice to stretch your legs and go some place new once in a while.'

'I can't believe it...'

'Excuse me?'

'I can't believe it!' exploded Islington, 'How dare my stupid fat brother assign me an uncalled-for caretaker, just because I have been climbing the walls a bit more frequently, in his opinion!'

'Well, your brother is an overprotective git.'

'Oh, that and so much more!'

Islington turned around and started to pace to and fro, clutching his curls and praying for his starting migraine to be a minor one, thank you very much.

What was he supposed to do?

Once Westminster had made up his mind there was nothing that could change it. He had learned his lesson a long time ago and had tried to keep a low profile, and yet his brother had intervened once again.

He regarded his future overseer.

This Lambeth said that he too was a guardian and kept watch over London Above.

But there was more.

Islington's mind whirled with newly gained information.

Lambeth's gait, his cane, his composure, everything screamed Military.

An ex-soldier, then. Wounded in action not so long ago, according to the still-existing pain in his wounded shoulder and leg.

'How did you become a guardian?' Islington demanded to know.

Lambeth chuckled, 'My, how polite you are. If you must know, your brother got me the job. And since he is my superior, I can't decline his requests. Think about it. This could be fun. You show me your world, I show you mine. We can keep each other company.'

'_There _is _absolutely_ _nothing __of interest _to _me__ out there _on Earth, _at all_,' grumbled the dark haired Angel, throwing himself back on his bed.

He closed his eyes and decided to ignore his unwelcome visitor.

Maybe he would leave if Islington didn't pay any attention to him long enough.

Islington heard a deep sigh and the shuffle of irregular steps guided by the aluminium cane.

Then the rustling of paper against paper.

The mattress dipped and Islington was astonished to realize that Lambeth was sitting down next to him, back supported by the bed's headboard, a first edition of Grey's Anatomy in his lap.

Did he intend to stay?

'What are you doing?' asked Islington surlily.

'Reading. What else does it look like?'

'Why are you reading?'

'Well, if you won't talk to me I have to entertain myself, don't I? You have a great collection here,' Lambeth held up the book, 'and I would be insane not to take advantage of it for as long as I can.'

Lambeth resumed his reading.

A moment of silence followed.

'You're weird,' the reply came quietly from deep between the pillows.

'Thank you.'

Lambeth grinned.

'I am not happy with this,' mumbled the chaos of dark curls.

'I figured as much.'

'Why would I show you Below, anyway?'

'If you won't, I will explore it myself. And be eaten by the Beast, probably. But what the hell, right?'

'As if Above is so much different from Below. Surely it must be quite dull.'

'Oh, no, it can be pretty exciting, I guess. When you look for the right kind of entertainment in the right places at the right time.'

'Why won't you go away?'

'I don't have anything better to do, right now. And your stupid brother wouldn't shut up about it, if I didn't do as he says.'

Another moment of silence.

Then a hand came slowly into Lambeth's field of vision.

'Islington,' murmured the pillow.

The blond Angel smiled and took the offered hand.

'Lambeth.'

* * *

Thanks for reading!

I know this is a bit of a short one but I am getting better already and am trying to make the following chapters longer.

Still, Reviews are appreciated.

See you next time!

Moehre89


	3. Chapter 03 - Daily Routines Below

Disclaimer

And here we go!

First things first: neither Neverwhere nor Sherlock are mine, I just let their characters do whatever I please because I desperately needed another crossover!

Second: I don't get any money out of this!

Third: Thanks to my wonderful Beta cautiousAlbatross! Any remaining errors are mine and mine alone.

I am currently writing the third to last chapter, so I think this baby wont be longer than 9-10 chapters.

This may be a bit short, but I am trying to make the coming chapters longer.

Well, sit back and enjoy!

* * *

A single Day and Night of Misfortune

Chapter 03 - Daily Routines Below

2009 A.D. – London Below

And thus Islington's and Lambeth's new companionship was established and, at first reluctantly, accepted.

Islington concurred with Lambeth's thought that it would be a fool's errand to try to defy Westminster's will.

Why try to make both their lives more insufferable than they already were?

They spent the rest of the day in silence, Lambeth engrossed in his book and Islington pacing the halls, though never letting the blond Angel out of his sight.

Islington was, if not thrilled, at least intrigued by his new permanent attendant. Like most of their kin, Lambeth had a quiet and steady countenance. A subtle radiance, common to every heavenly child. Yet Islington knew there was something else, buried deep beneath the layers of wool, the smell of tea and old books and canes, something dangerous that separated Lambeth from the other Angels and made him unique - and all the more interesting to Islington.

'Afghanistan or Iraq?'

Lambeth looked up and gave Islington a puzzled look.

'Excuse me?'

'Your injuries, where did you receive them? Afghanistan or Iraq?'

The blond Angel was clearly enjoying his reading material. His brain seemed to be a bit slow to catch on to Islington's line of thought.

'Uh, Afghanistan. How did you know?'

Islington waved his hand impatiently.

'Clearly your injuries are not yet old enough to cease to cause you pain, as I see from the way you move and hold your body, carefully, trying to avoid any sudden movement. Furthermore your appearance, your demeanour, screams military. The calluses on your hands show you held the sword in your right, and the shield in your left hand. Your muscle mass is still quite impressive, though already depleting. So at least three years out of service. Where would a soldier of Heaven have been stationed within the last ten years? Afghanistan or Iraq.'

The dark-haired Angel observed how Lambeth closed the book and put it down on the bed, waiting for the inevitable. Surely Islington had struck too close to home, revealed things better left uncovered. Things not for him to see, not for him to know.

Lambeth looked at him, an impressed expression on his face.

'That...was amazing.'

Now it was Islington's turn to be puzzled. That was...new.

'You think so?'

'Of course, it was extraordinary. Quite extraordinary!'

'That's not what people usually say.'

'What do people usually say?'

Islington hesitated.

'...Piss off.'

The blond Angel laughed.

'Oh dear! Well, don't fret, Islington. Westminster already told me you have a most singular mind, so, in a way, I came prepared. But still, I am impressed.'

Warmth spread through Islington's chest. Never had he been complimented on his keen sense of observation before. He felt strangely light and high spirited. A feeling he could get used to. He stepped over to the unoccupied side of the bed and laid down.

'How long will you stay here, Lambeth?'

The guardian of Above leaned back and crossed his arms behind his head.

'Well, I don't have much to do these next few days. So I guess I'll stay at least for a week. Then I should have to go back. Will you come with me then?'

'I don't really have a choice, do I? But what should we do during your stay here? There's not much to do Below.'

Lambeth stretched, not bothering to hide a yawn. He buried himself deeper between the pillows and tugged the duvet up over his shoulders.

'We'll find something, don't worry. I haven't been down here for so long. You can show me around, we can visit the fiefdoms, maybe tickle the Great Beast of London.'

'I usually don't mingle with the people more than I have to.'

'Why not?'

'I have my reasons. Say, it appears you intend to stay the night.'

A chuckle rose from between the folds of bedding.

'Oh, you really are good. Very good. Yes, I will stay here tonight. And the coming nights, if you don't mind. We can have another bed brought here tomorrow, should you wish it, but tonight I will sleep with you here. A chair would only hurt my shoulder and I promise not to hog the covers. I tend to snore, though, just to warn you.'

A low chuckle escaped Islington's lips.

'Well, I play the violin when I'm thinking and sometimes I don't talk for days. Would that bother you? Room-mates should know the worst about each other.'

Deep blue eyes pierced Islington's own and a shudder ran through his body.

'The worst, indeed' chuckled Lambeth and slowly drifted off to sleep.

Islington made himself comfortable beneath the covers and soon joined his new companion in deep, restful slumber.

* * *

The next few days found Islington in almost happy spirits.

He and Lambeth, wilfully concealed from everybody's eyes, explored the nooks and crannies of the Underside.

Islington showed him the hidden layer of The Golden, the leaders of the sewer rats, commanders of the Rat-Speakers.

Together they wandered on the rooftops of Wembley, observing the crowds filling the Floating Market. Lambeth was as impressed as he was appalled by the proudly presented findings of the Sewer Folk. His quizzical expression made Islington laugh.

Lambeth admitted that he hadn't expected cat to taste like chicken.

The second bed Lambeth had suggested being added to the citadel's décor wasn't mentioned again. Islington grew fond of the warmth of another body next to him at night.

The two Angels' acquaintance steadily developed into a strong and singular friendship, appreciated by both sides.

Lambeth's unpredictable character amused Islington and, if not lifted, relieved the depression and unease which pressed down on his mind.

It was a strange experience for Islington, to not be alone, to have someone by his side at all times. Again, a circumstance he could grow used to.

In Islington's company, Lambeth seemed to forget about his ailments and soon no longer needed the aid of his cane. He always knew the injury was of a psychological nature, but it had brought him pain all the same.

He was all the more happy about the steady ceasing of the aching cramps and enjoyed his new found freedom.

London Below had changed since Lambeth's last visit and he greatly enjoyed roaming the streets and tunnels together with Islington. The guardian of the Underside certainly knew his way around every fiefdom and did not hide his light under a bushel as he recited a never ending stream of interesting facts.

Lambeth was especially fond of Islington's ability to observe. He would ask the dark-haired Angel to tell him everything about any random person and and be amazed by his deductions.

One afternoon they sat on a bridge, eating apples and dangling their feet above the water, when a thought came up in Lambeth's mind.

'You really don't like to mingle with the people here, do you?'

Islington took another bite from his apple.

'As I told you before, no, not really.'

'Well, I would stay away too, if people started kissing the ground I walk on as soon as they saw me, sure. But to keep no contact, only speak to them if the situation makes it impossible to avoid? I would hate that!'

'Isn't it the same for you? The people you guard don't believe in you, can't see you, and you are not allowed to show yourself to them unless the situation demands it. And even then they may only see you as a human.'

Lambeth threw the remains of his apple down into the water.

'That may be true, but I don't have a choice! Angels Above are not allowed to reveal themselves to the humans they guard. But I am thankful I can make acquaintances whilst in my human form. Otherwise I wouldn't have a home, really. Mrs. Hudson, my landlady, is a sweet old woman, and Angelo makes the best tortellini in London.'

Another apple made its way into the water.

'Do you call yourself Lambeth in your human form?' asked Islington, 'Or do you have another name?'

'Not only do I have a name, but your brother gave my alter ego an occupation, too. My human name is John Watson and I am a temporary GP in a local practice. So when I make my round around London, Mrs. Hudson thinks I'm off to work. My character was a Captain in the RAMF and was invalided home after being injured whilst on duty in Afghanistan. Once you come with me to Above, Westminster will have an identity ready for you, too, I bet. But why do you stay away from the people here? You're allowed to talk to them; they know about you.'

Islington drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

'I once got too close to those I was told to protect ' mumbled the dark-haired guardian, 'and I will not make the same mistake twice. Feelings cloud one's perception and makes one blind to the wrongdoings of those close to them.'

The Angel next to Islington gave him a compassionate look.

'The people of Atlantis. You didn't see their end coming, did you? I've heard about it.'

Islington hid his face in his knees. He didn't want to talk about it any longer.

Lambeth gave Islington a friendly pat on the shoulder and stood.

He stretched, then offered Islington his hand to help him up.

'Shall we? I'm knackered.'

The dark-haired Angel took the offered hand hesitantly, and pulled himself up. As they made their way back to the citadel, he relished the prickling warmth in his hand and shoulder.

* * *

Well, that's it for this week.

I hope you had fun reading this.

Again, reviews are appreciated XD

Until next week!

Moehre89


	4. Chapter 04 - A new Identity

Disclaimer

Hello and welcome to the fourth chapter of A single Day and Night of Misfortune

First things first: neither Neverwhere nor Sherlock are mine, I just let their characters do whatever I please because I desperately needed another crossover!

Second: I don't get any money out of this!

Third: Thanks to my wonderful Beta cautiousAlbatross! Any remaining errors are mine and mine alone.

Sorry for the delay. I realise that it took me a week longer to update something new.

But I am currently kind of employed, so I do not have much time to write anymore.

I will finish this, do not worry, but it may take a little while longer.

Please enjoy this new chapter nonetheless!

* * *

A single Day and Night of Misfortune

Chapter 04 - A New Identity

2009 A.D. – London Below, The Citadel of the Angel Islington

The week passed fast.

Almost too fast for Lambeth.

But it was time for him to go back to the Upside.

And with him would come a certain indignant Angel, who hadn't left his citadel in more than 500 years, and was busy complaining about the whole Going-Upside-Business.

'Why can't we stay down here for another day or two? I'm sure your precious Upside can cope for a bit longer, given how amazingly idle you were before we met. And we cannot use the Angelus. It can only be used once. And you passed it already.'

Sighing, Lambeth ran a hand through his hair, his other hand holding the now useless cane.

'First, since we are neither humans nor wanderers we may go through the Angelus as often as we please, you know that, so stop trying to distract me. And second, like you, I have my duties to attend to. But unlike you, I don't have a system that makes my part in carrying them out as good as needless. So, we will step through that door, we will go to my place, I will show you around and you will like it - or at least be thankful for the change of scenery. Can we go now?'

The dark-haired Angel huffed, offended, but stepped up to the doorway and together they pushed open the tall wooden doors.

* * *

2009 A.D. – London Above, Camden, The British Museum, Spring

Lambeth didn't like to travel via the Angelus. The tugging feeling behind his navel as he was drawn through the barriers between Above and Below always left him feeling slightly nauseous.

Only a moment later he felt the ground under his feet again. Islington was already busy studying their surroundings.

The Angelus was being kept in one of the conservation rooms beneath the exhibition halls of the British Museum, waiting for its own restoration.

Lambeth knew that the Angelus had passed into the hands of one Mr. Arnold Stockton, a bigwig in communications who apparently owned half of London.

What was to happen to it after the restoration, Lambeth did not know. Maybe it would be displayed in the museum.

Islington was inspecting some instruments displayed on a nearby desk, when Lambeth tapped him on his left arm.

'Come on then. Security may not see us but we don't have to take any chances.'

He walked to the nearby door and tried to open it. It was locked, as expected. But the Angel Westminster had brought a handy gift as he had instructed Lambeth on his plans.

The blond Angel pulled a key out of his trouser pocket. It was nondescript, nothing special.

He inserted the key into the lock and turned it. A click, and the door was open.

As usual guarded from unwanted attention, they made their way through the dark halls of the museum, opening any closed doors they encountered on their way with Westminster's key.

Now and again Islington would shyly pull on the hem of Lambeth's jumper and point out something of interest to him. Lambeth had to admit that it was adorable.

It was still early, not yet 8 am, but the streets were already busy with people going to work or students on their way to University.

Once they were outside, Lambeth stopped and looked at Islington.

'My place is not too far from here. Would you like to walk or should we take a cab? We'll need around 45 minutes if we walk.'

Islington's head kept turning from one side to the other, drinking in every little detail his eyes could catch.

'I would like to walk...please.'

In the few days Lambeth had spend below, he had taught Islington one or two things about proper etiquette. Well, he had coaxed the dark-haired Angel into saying 'please' and 'thank you'.

A small success, but a success nonetheless.

Lambeth nodded his consent and turned right.

'OK. Well, let's go, then.'

And thus they made their way towards Baker Street.

They came by the Royal Academy and the UCH before they passed Park Square West and followed Marylebone Road.

A short time later they stood before a black varnished wooden door, on its surface a golden knocker and the letters '221', also in gold, glimmering in the morning sun.

Lambeth fished another key from the depths of his pockets, unlocked the door and together they stepped inside. Once he closed the door again, he led Islington up two flights of stairs and stepped into the sitting room.

'Well,' he turned towards Islington and gestured at the room, 'welcome to the Citadel of the Angel Lambeth.'

* * *

2009 A.D.– London Above, City of Westminster, The Citadel of the Angel Lambeth, Spring

This was...exceptional.

Slowly, Islington stepped farther into the sitting room, taking note of the bull skull wearing headphones on the far wall between two big windows.

He regarded the two different chairs in front of the fireplace, the carpet beneath his shoes and the ugly couch to his right.

This place was a decorative nightmare.

It was the exact opposite to his citadel.

It was perfect!

Like a child in a sweetshop, he inspected every room: the bathroom, the kitchen, the two bedrooms, one empty, only furnished with a double bed and an unused wardrobe, the other clearly lived in, the wardrobe filled with woolly jumpers.

Lambeth's room.

Once back downstairs, he found Lambeth waiting for him in the kitchen, two cups of tea sitting on the table.

'Ok, as you have no doubt observed, the downstairs bedroom will be your territory. I'll remake the bed later today and put on some new sheets. Is there anything else you need? Toothbrush, clothes?'

'No, thank you,' Islington reached for his tea, 'my essentials will arrive within the hour.'

Islington had arranged for his clothes, his violin and so forth to be brought around by Westminster. Since all this had been his brother's idea, he should make himself useful for a change.

Lambeth had lived out of an old weathered duffel bag for the past week, which he was now unpacking in the bathroom, dropping his dirty clothes into the hamper.

By the Heavens, how many jumpers could one person own?!

Islington took another sip from his cup, when suddenly his brother appeared in the sitting room, surrounded by boxes and a violin case in his hand.

'Really, Islington, I do not understand why you should need all this to accommodate you for a stay no longer than a week,' Westminster said, indignantly placing the violin case on the nearby chair.

'Oh, shut up, Westminster,' Islington jumped up and tore into the first box, 'and who says I'm only staying for a week? I'm sure Lambeth wouldn't mind having me here for a bit longer – right, Lambeth?'

The blond Angel was leaning in the doorway, shaking his head in amusement about the chaos in his home.

'Sure, I don't mind, but shouldn't you-'

'No, Islington, one week,' Westminster interrupted, 'you will stay here for exactly one week and then return to your duties for the next week, and so on and so forth. This situation is unique, as it is frowned upon in Heaven. You know guardians are not allowed to leave their domain. Be thankful to have this opportunity.'

Islington felt his heart dropping into his stomach and tried to cover up his pained expression by burying himself deeper into the next box. He just hoped Lambeth couldn't see his face right now.

Westminster cleared his throat.

'With that issue being out of the way, Islington, I have here the file for your human alter-ego information. ID, birth certificate, employment contract, lease agreement, all you need to pass for a normal citizen.'

The dark-haired Angel lunged for the file and flipped through the pages.

'Hmm, yes...yes...fine...the name is acceptable. But the occupation? A coroner? I don't think so.'

Lambeth stood next to Islington and looked over his shoulder. A groan escaped his lips when he read his room-mates new name.

'Westminster, you cannot be serious! I understand that my own name can be kind of common around here, but this? Sherlock Holmes? Really?'

Westminster gave Lambeth a deliberately innocent look.

'I don't know what you are talking about.'

'Yeah, right! Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, living together in 221 B Baker Street. Nothing uncommon about that!'

Lambeth shook his head.

'Listen, you know just as well as me that these two names, together, are bound to raise question wherever we should go.'

'Don't worry, Lambeth,' Islington chipped in, 'Humans are idiots. They will think our or, at least, my supposed parents were just overly eccentric. But, Westminster, a coroner! That is unacceptable. I would rather honour the heritage of my new name and be a consulting detective. Add the needed alterations, please.'

He passed the file back to Westminster, picked up one of the boxes and made his way towards the empty bedroom.

Inside he put the box down and started unpacking. A smile spread on his face as he sorted away his possessions.

He would live here, in London Above, in the City of Westminster, in Baker Street.

He would live here with Lambeth.

He would live here with... his friend.

* * *

2009 A.D. – London Above, City of Westminster, The Citadel of the Angel Lambeth, Spring

On the next day Lambeth introduced Islington to their landlady, Mrs. Martha Hudson.

The older woman, constantly dressed in bright, colourful blouses and skirts, instantly fell in love with her new tenant. She caressed his arm and petted his hair whilst telling him that dear John had told her he would look for a room-mate to split the rent.

'And just so you know, Sherlock, I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper. I will not clean up after the two of you. Now, would you like a cookie?'

Over the next week, Lambeth took Islington on a grand tour around London Above.

They ate greasy fish and chips next to the houses of parliament and visited the Tower of London.

Lambeth had to make a little detour that day to visit Old Bailey on the rooftops of Tower Bridge and inquire about any changes in the last few days.

As he had suspected, there had been none.

Further visiting spots were the New Scotland Yard (they actually took a look inside, again invisible to unwanted eyes and ears while Islington kept complaining about the inability of the local force), the East End where Islington quickly was engrossed with the modus operandi of Jack the Ripper (actually a lady of higher birth, jealous of the prostitutes' fertility while she had been born barren herself - which was quite obvious if one only knew to correctly interpret the clues, for Heaven's sake) and a night spent on the top of the Shard, enjoying the lights of London at night.

It was on that night that Islington plucked up his courage, took Lambeth's hand and leaned his head on his friend's left shoulder.

The dark-haired Angel's heart was beating wildly in his chest.

These last two weeks he had found a friend in Lambeth, someone who, though forced into the situation, enjoyed his company and marvelled at his abilities.

Islington never had had a friend before, ever since he had shown weakness after his losing Atlantis.

And now there was Lambeth, hurt and broken like himself, and healing with his presence.

The blond Angel didn't need the cane any more, and the pain in his leg had vanished with the excitement of Islington's company.

The wind caressed their spread wings and a shudder ran through the Angels' bodies. Lambeth's hand tightened around Islington's fingers and he pressed a shy kiss to his dark curls.

Heat rose in Islington's cheeks, anticipation making the hairs on his arms stand up.

Since Lambeth had first stepped through the doors of the Angelus and introduced himself to Islington, the guardian of Below had noticed the looks his friend would sometimes give him. The soft gleam in those deep blue eyes filled with fondness, concern, sometimes exasperation - and attraction.

Lambeth was attracted to Islington.

He felt deeply for Islington.

Maybe even loved Islington.

Uncertainty had confused the dark-haired Angel.

He didn't know how to react to such attention.

Though his own feelings for the guardian of Above had grown and filled his heart and mind with wild hopes and dreams of a companionship deeper and more intimate than at present, he feared for their friendship should he have misinterpreted the signs.

The wildly spinning thoughts in his mind stopped abruptly, when he felt Lambeth's hand touch his cheek and turn his face.

For a moment he saw only deep blue eyes dark with emotion and next he felt soft lips lightly press against his own.

The world stopped spinning.

At first it was just light pressure of flesh against flesh.

Then Lambeth pulled back and looked into Islington's eyes.

'Okay?' he asked, voice quivering uncertainly.

Islington could not speak.

His body shook with tension and all he could do was nod and lean forward to press his mouth against the wonderfully soft flesh again and again.

He felt hands run through his hair and tilt his head and he moaned as Lambeth deepened the kiss, moving his lips against Islington's and pressing his tongue against his own.

Islington's hand caressed the blond Angel's arms and shoulders. He pressed himself closer to the body next to him and they both groaned when they felt their wings touch.

The two Angels parted and breathed heavily, leaning their foreheads together and looking into each other's eyes.

Lambeth brought his fingers to Islington's cheek, and touched the corner of his mouth with a thumb.

He smiled.

'You are amazing,' he whispered against Islington's mouth, as if one loud sound could break this moment.

Islington sighed, took Lambeth's free hand in his own and squeezed it.

'You are fantastic,' he breathed into his friends mouth, and silenced any reply with another kiss.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

I hope you enjoyed it.

Due to future contents I upgraded the story from T to M, just in case.

As usual, R & R, as feedback is always welcome ^^

And please feel inspired to write more SherlockxNeverwhere crossovers XD

Until next time!

Moehre89


	5. Chapter 05 - The Days of Calm

Disclaimer

Hi there!

First the usual: neither Neverwhere nor Sherlock are mine, I just let their characters do whatever I please because I desperately needed another crossover!

Second: I don't get any money out of this!

Third: Thanks to my wonderful Beta cautiousAlbatross! Any remaining errors are mine and mine alone.

I hope you won't hold the delayed updates against me.

I have a lot on my plate lately, but I am trying to keep this going.

Anyway, enjoy, read and review ^^

* * *

A single Day and Night of Misfortune

Chapter 05 - The Days of Calm

2009 A.D.– London Above, City of Westminster, The Citadel of the Angel Lambeth, Spring

Later that night, they landed on the rooftop of their home and made their way inside through an open window.

Once they were inside, Islington shyly reached for Lambeth's hand, eyes cast down towards the ground.

The blond Angel stepped closer to his side, pressing one of his wings against Islington's.

They both shuddered as Lambeth took the last step and traced his fingers over one of his friend's high cheekbones, lightly kissing the other.

The guardian of Above revelled in the new freedom of touch. They had spent the last hour on the Shard, caressing each other - kissing, touching, whispering sweet nothings onto each other's lips.

Lambeth still couldn't believe this was happening.

Only two days ago he had thought that his feelings for his friend had deepened too fast, had thought this was only a crush caused by too much time spent alone and his euphoria over his healed leg.

But when Islington had taken his hand and Lambeth had felt the racing pulse under his fingers, he knew this was different.

He admitted that both of them had been alone far too long, pressed into a role they both did not want.

But they had met and they were fascinatingly compatible. Now, to Lambeth, his assignment didn't seem so boring any more.

With Islington he could laugh.

With Islington he could sit in silence for hours without feeling detached from everything.

And Islington needed him just as much as he needed Islington.

Together their lives didn't seem so terribly insufferable any more.

Islington's ethereal beauty only sped up the process. All Angels were blessed with elegance and attractiveness, but the dark-haired Angel was truly exceptional.

Lambeth stepped into Islington's arms and traced his hands over the angel's smooth back, enjoying the feeling of the soft material of his friend's suit jacket.

He felt a pair of long fingered hands on his own hips, hesitatingly tracing the fabric until they rested on the small of his back.

The blond Angel ghosted a kiss against his friend's lips and smiled when he pulled back.

'Come, it's late. Let's go to bed. I, for one, am ready to drop dead.'

The body under his hands stiffened and Islington's eyes returned to inspecting the floorboards.

It was not usual for Angels to have romantic relationships. It happened - Lambeth knew of a few couples who had taken their vows to stay with each other for the rest of their existence. But first one needed to find that one special partner, and only few were as fortunate enough to do so.

Also, Angels did not have casual flings. They didn't even have the need for intercourse unless they found their partner.

Of course everybody knew how 'it' worked - they had been watching humans long enough - but 'it' just never happened.

And so Lambeth wasn't surprised by Islington's sudden agitation.

'Don't worry,' said Lambeth, lifting Islington's face by the chin with one hand, 'Nothing is going to happen tonight. This is big, Islington, and so very important to me. And I am not ready to risk this by taking things too far, too fast. Let's sleep tonight, maybe kiss some more,' he whispered against the corner of Islington's red-kissed mouth, 'and cuddle, we definitely need to cuddle, but anything else will come to us in time. Is that okay?'

He felt his friend's stiff body relaxing in relief.

'Thank you,' Islington whispered, 'but I must admit, I am glad this happened. I missed you sleeping beside me.'

'Really?'

'Yes, I have gotten quite used to somebody next to me at night.'

Lambeth felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Retracting his wings and taking Islington's hand, he made his way to Islington's bedroom. They would sleep better in his double bed than in Lambeth's single.

There he began to take of his clothes, always feeling the other's eyes looking at him. When he stood in nothing but his boxers, he felt a touch on his left shoulder. Soft fingers pressed shyly against the scar adorning the front and back of his left side.

'You were overpowered' Islington whispered and stepped closer, his chest almost touching Lambeth's back, 'you fought back, but they had the upper hand. An ambush. The wound itself wasn't fatal but the infection,' Lambeth felt fingers follow the rough scarring around the wound's entry point, 'could have killed you...You could have died from this.'

Islington's lean body pressed against Lambeth's back and long arms encircled his chest. The dark-haired Angel had stripped down to his pants. His skin was warm against Lambeth's own.

Pressing his face into Lambeth's hair, Islington whispered, 'I am glad you did not die.'

A chuckle escaped the blond Angel's lips.

'Yeah, me too,' he said, reaching back and running his hand through the other Angel's dark curls.

'Come on, then. Off to bed.'

They lay awake for some time after they covered themselves with the duvet, caressing skin, kissing lips and collarbones, talking about anything and nothing.

Enjoying the moment and the promise of their relationship until, in the early hours of the next day, they finally fall asleep.

* * *

2009 A.D.– London Above, City of Westminster

The following year brought many changes for both Islington and Lambeth.

Their routines Above and Below stayed the same.

Weeks Below were spent with hours of reading books, playing the violin and exploring the sewers, always shielded from the eyes of others.

On two occasions Islington had received visitors.

The first had come to them in late April. It had been the Lord Rat-Speaker, an old and tattered man, informing the guardian of the Underside that the rats had found another Forgotten Place deep under Hornchurch in Havering.

Islington (reluctant) and Lambeth (excited) had followed the Lord Rat-Speaker.

The Forgotten Place had turned out to be a thick forest that had existed in London around 800 A.D., but was cut down in the early 14th century.

This place had provided for a few wonderful weeks filled with walks and collecting leaves and flights over the high treetops.

The second visitor had been a group of painters coming around in July; seven young boys and girls between twelve and sixteen years of age, giving their seemingly regular report to Islington.

Islington had paid their effort with shoes, clothes, and a splint of rare silver metal which they could trade for a filling warm meal.

'What kind of metal is it?' Lambeth had asked Islington.

'I am not sure,' the dark-haired Angel had answered, 'my experiments only revealed its enormous solidness after liquefaction and that it can contain any kind of magic. With the right spells, it can do and be anything you want. But I really have no use for it.'

Everything else had remained the same.

Above was another matter.

Their lives in the flat had been quiet and domestic in the first few weeks.

They had kept to Lambeth's visits to Old Bailey and talking to the pigeons in Trafalgar Square twice a week and had enjoyed sitting on high rooftops at night to watch the lights.

When they had come home from these nightly expeditions, they would curl up on the bed in Islington's room and, step by step, take their relationship further and further.

Lambeth still remembered the night they had had their first mutual wank with a smile. Islington had been so shy and inexperienced. They had yet to take the final step, though.

But around the middle of March everything had started to change.

To prevent Islington from climbing the walls in boredom, they took regular walks around the Upside, sometimes in privacy, sometimes mingling with the crowds in their human forms.

It was on one of those walks that they had come by a crime scene near Southwark.

From whispered comments Lambeth and Islington had learned that it appeared to be a burglary gone wrong and now there was the body of a dead woman, and the burglar on the loose.

What a shock it was for Lambeth when Islington had ducked under the tape and entered the building, not caring for the officers' angered shouts and their attempts to stop him on his way.

After many loud discussions, Islington's impatient deductions, Lambeth's efforts to calm everybody down and a baffled Detective Inspector, the case had been concluded with Islington's convicting the downstairs neighbour.

The man had been in love with the dead girl for years and had finally snapped when she had brought home another lover the night before. He had smothered her with a pillow and thrown some of her possessions in the trash of the next building to make it look like burglary.

According to Islington, the traces of coloured nail-varnish on his clothes and small wounds on his shins were, among other obvious clues, evidence enough.

On their way back to the flat, Islington kept talking about the MET's inability, his hopes for the Detective Inspector named Lestrade, if he would only stop thinking about his cheating wife, and the case.

Lambeth had never seen Islington this excited. His eyes were gleaming, his face was a symphony of expressions and he was walking with such energy that Lambeth had to jog to keep up.

And thus started the career of Sherlock Holmes.

Only two weeks after the incident at Southwark, Detective Inspector Lestrade knocked on 221B's door and asked for Islington's help regarding the case of a murdered butcher at Tottenham.

Another three weeks later it was a missing child at Harrow.

In August, Islington, or rather, Sherlock Holmes, was a regular consultant to the Yard, with his own website called The Science Of Deduction and a flatmate, who blogged about his cases online and attracted private clients.

It was new to Lambeth to have an actual source of income. Some of their clients were quite high up the social ladder and so were their payments, and so the money Westminster provided them with was left almost untouched.

But what Lambeth took joy in the most was Islington's happiness.

His friend and lover flourished and took great pleasure in his work. His mind was constantly challenged and his talents were finally of use for something.

Which made it much harder for him to leave it behind every second week. But they kept to their agreement with Westminster and dutifully changed residences every seven days.

Through Islington's work they encountered several people who soon became a vital part of their everyday life.

Detective Inspector Lestrade became a regular visitor, though he sometimes despaired at Islington's hubris, and was always thankful for Lambeth's time over a pint at a nearby pub.

There was Molly Hooper, who worked in the morgue at St. Bartholomew's Hospital in Smithfield. When a case involved a dead body, Islington would usually con his way into he morgue by flirting with the shy young woman, who obviously had a crush on him.

Lambeth genuinely liked her and felt sorry for her at the same time.

Sadly there was no way to avoid Donovan or Anderson, who both worked under Lestrade and were frequently part of investigations. Islington's intelligence and rather snotty behaviour annoyed them and they never tried to hide their feelings.

Sometimes Lambeth considered messing with their heads, when he had to listen to another of their rows, them calling the dark-haired Angel a freak and Islington commenting on their disastrous sex life.

Even Westminster dropped by sometimes to look in on his brother and to see that he kept to the arrangement.

Islington hated Westminster's visits. Of course his brother knew about the change in Islington's and Lambeth's relationship without either of them telling him. He even had the gall to raise a judging eyebrow at his younger brother, which Islington knew meant he was not too happy about this development.

As if either Islington or Lambeth gave a toss about his opinion.

It was four months after their first kiss on top of the Shard when they had sex for the first time.

They just came home from a chase after a culprit through the streets of London Above.

High on adrenaline, they made their hasty way to their bedroom, got rid of their clothes and toppled down onto the bed, Islington on top of Lambeth, kissing him greedily and tugging on his hair.

Lambeth's hands wandered over his back, down to his buttocks and grabbed for the plush cheeks while Islington spread his legs and sat down on his groin.

The dark-haired Angel moaned into his lover's mouth and started to move his hips, franticly rubbing their erections together.

Slowly he calmed down enough to part from their kiss and look down at him, adjusting their movements and enjoying the friction between them.

Islington reached for the cabinet and grabbed the lube, of which there was a healthy supply, stowed away in one of the drawers.

While Lambeth kissed his shoulder and sucked on the skin of his collarbone, the consulting detective tried to open the lid with trembling fingers.

He leaned back, ignoring Lambeth's disappointed groan and sat down on his lover's thighs. Spreading the lube on his hand, he reached between them and closed his fingers around their pricks, starting with a lazy rhythm.

Both moaned loudly and Lambeth couldn't help but thrust his hips into the tight hold of Islington's hand.

'By the Heavens...You've gotten good at this, love...So good...' he whispered, reaching up to stroke his lover's chest.

Islington sighed and threw his back his head. He tightened his hand around them and added a twist of his wrist to every stroke.

'Mhm...w-we both had...oh...time to learn. Good thing humans invented the internet...Ah...'

Lambeth turned them around so that Islington lay below him and kissed his lips. He pulled back his hips and the tip of cock pressed against the puckered muscle of Islington's entrance.

The body underneath him shuddered and he felt Islington's hips tilt instinctively upwards.

They stilled their movements and looked at each other.

Lambeth touched the dark-haired Angel's cheek.

'Do you want to try?'

Islington leaned into the touch and kissed the inside of Lambeth's hand. He nodded.

'Let's. I want to.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes, I'm ready.'

They kissed and Lambeth searched for the lube, which had gotten buried beneath the folds of the sheet. He slicked up his fingers and reached for the tight muscle, pressing his finger against it and massaging it.

Islington sighed and put his hands on Lambeth's shoulders, following the markings of his scar, and slowly relaxed into the foreign touch.

The finger breached his muscle and he shivered, getting used to the pressure.

Soon a second and a third finger joined the first. By then Islington was panting and Lambeth's cock was twitching and leaking. While he prepared his lover, Lambeth kissed the inside of Islington's thighs, his stomach, his cheeks, everywhere he could reach, and whispered how wonderful Islington felt around his fingers, how he loved him more than anything, how happy he was to do this with him.

When Islington was ready, Lambeth slowly pulled back his hand and, just as carefully, replaced it with his prick. Once he was completely settled inside Islington's body, Lambeth leaned forward and rested his forehead against his lover's shoulder, waiting for him to adjust to the overwhelming feeling.

Islington lay panting on the bed, his muscles stretching around Lambeth's cock.

This was extraordinary. He felt full and it hurt and it was the most wonderful feeling he had ever experienced. Lambeth was deep inside him, as close as he could ever be, and Islington felt tears running down his face.

Lambeth kissed the corner of his mouth, his body trembling with the need to move.

'You okay? Am I hurting you? Please say I'm not hurting you,' he whispered desperately.

Islington smiled and and ran a hand through Lambeth's blond hair.

'You aren't hurting me. I just feel so...close to you. It's...indescribable.'

A smile tugged at Lambeth's lips. He pressed his forehead against Islington's and started to move, slowly and carefully. They moaned into each others mouths and Islington held on to Lambeth's shoulders when he started to speed up his thrusts.

Since this was the first time for both of them it didn't take much longer. After a few thrusts Islington's body tensed, he threw back his head and came with a low groan all over his chest. The trembling muscles around him tipped Lambeth over the edge and only moments later he rode out his own orgasm, driving his prick into his lover's body two more times through the aftershocks.

They remained joined for a moment longer, taken deep breaths and looking at each other in wonder. A smile grew on Islington's face and he hugged Lambeth close to his body.

They were sweaty and filthy and out of breath and they had never felt better.

Somehow Lambeth succeeded in persuading Islington to rebuild his connections with the leaders of the 26 fiefdoms of Below and they spent the better part of the summer visiting the different leaders.

Lambeth could see how Islington started to feel better when they were on the Underside, and after a while the dark-haired Angel stopped whining when it was time to change residences again.

They spent a quiet and cosy Christmas Above, sitting by the open window and listening to the city covered in snow, dulling every sound.

At least they did until Lestrade showed up with a case about a murder-suicide that lasted for three days.

Islington told Lambeth it was a wonderful Christmas present.

It was in February of the following year that everything went bust.

* * *

Well, there you have it!

It gets a bit steamy at last XD

This was my first try at writing something smexy.

I hope you enjoyed it!

See you next time!

Moehre89


	6. Chapter 06 - The Storm rises

Disclaimer

Hi people

First the usual: neither Neverwhere nor Sherlock are mine, I just let their characters do whatever I please because I desperately needed another crossover!

Second: I don't get any money out of this!

Third: Thanks to my wonderful Beta cautiousAlbatross! Any remaining errors are mine and mine alone.

At last another chapter, and one with drama, too!

I hope you enjoyed the ride so far. I am currently writing in the last chapter, so this little adventure wont last much longer.

Anyway, enjoy!

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A single Day and Night of Misfortune

Chapter 06 - The Storm rises

2010 A.D.– London Above, The Citadel of the Angel Lambeth, February

It was early in the morning when they arrived back at 221B. The case, a triple homicide of three siblings - one woman and two men - which had been conducted by the jealous and moneyless third brother and had concluded with his own death at the hands of his sister's fiancé, had taken its toll on the two guardians.

Islington had insisted on verifying the cause of death by administering a dosage of the poison used to his own system, heating the deadly powder over a Bunsen burner.

Its impact had surprised both Islington and Lambeth.

Only seconds after the powder had started to dissolve in the vial the consulting detective had held over the open flame, the Angels had been lying on the floor, writhing in terror, scratching at their throats and panting for air.

The pictures his mind had shown him would be haunting Lambeth for some time.

Lestrade, who had come over to tell them of the fiancé's questioning, hadn't been too happy about finding them nearly choking to death, either.

Once they were in bed, Islington kept apologising for having endangered their lives.

He kept his face pressed into Lambeth's shoulder the entire night.

The next day didn't go much better.

Lambeth and Islington were still lying in bed when they heard a knock on their bedroom door. Islington groaned and tightened his arms around his lover's chest.

'Please, God, please make him go away!'

'You know who it is?' Lambeth asked, pressing a kiss to Islington's forehead.

'It's Westminster. By the heavens, he just has to pick moments like these to pop up.'

A muffled voice called from the sitting room.

'Islington, please do make yourself presentable, I have important matters to discuss with you.'

The two Angels shared one last look and stood up to get dressed. Once their exposed skin, covered in love bites and beard burns, was decently covered, they left the bedroom and joined Westminster, who was already seated in Lambeth's chair.

'Ah, there you are. Sit down, I do have further matters to attend to later. So let me come straight to the point.'

Straightening the fabric of his waistcoat, he cleared his voice and looked at his younger brother.

'Brother, I am afraid this can't go on any longer.'

'What can't?' the dark haired Angel asked.

'Your defying the rules of this arrangement. You both know to what I am referring to.'

And know they did.

Lambeth had been afraid for a while that something like this would happen.

Around half a year ago they had developed a certain bad habit - this bad habit being their extending the weeks spent Upside.

It had happened slowly but steadily. First it had been only one or two hours longer spent in bed, then a day when a case had proven to be a bit more tricky.

By now they were up to three days, sometimes a whole week.

While Lambeth felt the colour drain from his face, Islington flung himself out of his chair and started to pace to and fro through the sitting room.

'This is ridiculous! The Underside can cope without me for longer than a week at a time. I took the required precautions and made sure every clan is prepared for every circumstance that may ari-'

'That is not the problem, brother!' Westminster interrupted, 'The conditions for this arrangement are for the two of you to spend equal time Above and Below. You cannot hide here just because you find your duties in your own realm unsatisfying.'

Westminster stood and stepped towards his younger brother.

'Mark me well, Islington. I was able to cover for you these last few months. But there are still some who hold higher ranks than mine and doubt the benefit of your cohabitation.'

He looked at Lambeth.

'Both of you are walking along a very dangerous path. Should this habit of yours not cease, you will receive visitors who are not as concerned about your good health as I am. There will be consequences you are not willing to face.'

With a last menacing glare, Westminster turned around and left the flat.

Lambeth felt all air leave his lungs and slumped down onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. A shiver ran down his spine.

He felt Islington sit down next to him. Long fingers ran soothingly through his hair.

'Don't worry, Lambeth,' Islington whispered, 'Surely my brother is just exaggerating. How bad can it be, when we stay here for as long as we like?'

Lambeth looked up and pressed a soft kiss to Islington's lips.

'Islington,' he whispered, 'You haven't seen the kind of retribution Heaven will release upon those they deem traitorous. But I have.' The blond Angel reached up and touched his lover's cheek. 'Exile, torture and imprisonment are only some of their methods. You do remember Lucifer, don't you?'

The dark haired Angel leaned into Lambeth's touch.

'Lucifer was an idiot who tried to reach too high too fast. Our staying here will not end in damnation and banishment, I am sure of it.'

Islington moved forward and pressed Lambeth down onto the couch until he could lay down along the blond Angel's body. He caressed the strong arms that instinctively came to rest around his waist and kissed Lambeth's brow.

'We will go back Below tomorrow. For now, think of something else.'

He moved his hips and pressed his growing arousal against Lambeth's thigh. The guardian of Above moaned and deepened their kiss, thrusting his tongue into the warmth of Islington's mouth.

They remained like this for a while, kissing and rutting against each other, trying to dispel the worries left behind by Westminster's visit.

Islington broke the kiss and started to undo the buttons of Lambeth's shirt, kissing every new patch of revealed skin. Once he reached the rim of his companion's trousers, he opened the button and tugged down the zip, freeing the straining cock from its confinement and taking it deep into his mouth.

A strangled cry escaped Lambeth's lips when he felt the wet heat surround his member. It took every bit of control for him not to thrust into Islington's mouth and accidentally choke him.

The blond Angel looked down and observed the obscenely erotic picture of Islington's lips around his cock. The way the dark haired Angel bobbed his head in abandon, how the plump flesh of his lips reddened around his hardened member almost sent Lambeth over the edge.

He reached out and tugged on Islington's black curls, gently pulling him away from his cock and coaxing him into a deep kiss. Tasting himself on Islington's lips gave him a strange sense of ownership and a shiver ran down his spine.

Lambeth pulled Islington up until the guardian of London Below sat in his lap, straddling his legs. He reached out and opened the flimsy dressing gown Islington had covered himself with. Lambeth's hand wandered down and cupped his lover's erection through the fabric of his shorts.

He breathed in Islington's moan, tugged the waistband down until it rested under his balls and closed his calloused hand around Islington's shaft.

A helpless thrust threw the dark haired Angels hip forward and touched the tip of his cock to Lambeth's stomach, leaving a wet spot of precum on tanned skin.

Islington shuddered under Lambeth's ministration. He broke their contact, stood and got rid of his remaining clothes. He than reached out and relieved Lambeth of his of trousers and shorts and resumed his position astride his legs.

Two fingers pressed against his lips and he welcomed them inside his mouth, laving them with his spit.

A moan escaped Lambeth's lips.

'By God' he whispered, 'You are beautiful.'

Lambeth made Islington release his fingers and guided his hand down Islington's spine, parted the firm globes of his buttocks and pressed against his entrance, still tight beneath his fingers but already trembling with excitement.

Islington groaned and rested his forehead against Lambeth's own. Lambeth used this opportunity to press feathery kisses against his high cheekbones.

'I love the way you blush,' he whispered against the Angel's flushed skin.

'I love the way you quiver around me,' he breathed against Islington's lips as his fingers breached the tight muscle.

Islington's hips stuttered and pressed further down upon the intruding digits.

'Lambeth, please,' he moaned, and leaned closer against his lover's chest.

The blond Angel removed his fingers, leaned back against the pillows and positioned himself at Islington's entrance.

'I love you' he said, pushing up into the tight heat of Islington's body.

They made love with practised ease. The movements were familiar by now, almost second nature. Islington and Lambeth pushed each other towards the peak, slowly and deliciously and their shared orgasm was as intense and overwhelming as their first.

They stayed awake until the early hours of the next day, touching and caressing, kissing skin and making love again and again until they fell into deep slumber, still entangled in each other.

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2010 A.D.– London Below, The Citadel of the Angel Islington, March

It was the third week after Westminster's visit when it happened.

They had returned to the Underside and tried to keep to their schedule, but a case had detained them yet again and they had arrived back Below two days later than planned.

On their third day back Below, whilst they sat side by side on the dark table in the gallery discussing the news of a skirmish at Earl's Court, the doors of the Angelus burst open and a group of Angels entered the citadel.

In the lead was Westminster, his face cold and emotionless.

As he climbed the stairs followed by his flock, both Lambeth and Islington stood, surprised by the sudden intrusion.

Islington stepped forward.

'Westminster, what are you doing here? What is the meaning of this?'

Two of Westminster's accompanying Angels grabbed Islington by the shoulders, while the remaining two positioned themselves on either side of Lambeth. Westminster stepped towards his younger brother and, once he reached him, removed a piece of paper from the breast pocket of his waistcoat. He unfolded it and read aloud.

'By order of the highest authorities in Heaven, the Angel Islington, Guardian of London Below, and the Angel Lambeth, Guardian of London Above are to be separated and brought back to their respective residences.'

The Angels alongside Lambeth took hold of his arms and started to pull him down the stairwell towards the Angelus. Lambeth resisted.

'Hey, what are you doing? Take your hands off me!' he called whilst trying to break their hold.

Meanwhile, Islington was pushed back into his chair. For all his efforts, his captors would not let him go.

'Lambeth! Let me go, you imbeciles! Westminster, explain yourself, now!'

Islington's older brother calmly resumed reading.

'It came to the Council's attention that the Angels Lambeth and Islington repeatedly defied their arrangement's conditions and are therefore endangering the balance of London Above and Below.

'The Angel Islington's refractory attitude towards his duties led the Council to believe that he is not only not remorseful for his losing the Great City of Atlantis, but is ready to desert his own realm perennially without explicit permission.'

A harsh laugh escaped Lambeth's lips as he fought against the other Angels' hold.

'Not remorseful, they say! Westminster, his remorse was the very reason why you sent me to him!'

He looked around and saw that he and the Angels holding onto him had almost reached the Angelus.

He heard Westminster's voice reverberate through the high halls.

'Thus the arrangement of the Angels Lambeth and Islington's cohabitation is hereby annulled with immediate effect.

The Angel Lambeth is to resume his duties Upside and is not to set foot in Below henceforth.

The Angel Islington is to be contained inside the Citadel and not to be released until he shows penitence for his actions.'

Islington felt the blood leave his face. He shook his head, his body shivering and sweat breaking out on his forehead.

'No. No! You would not do this to me! Brother, don't take him away from me! Don't imprison me here in this godforsaken place!'

He strained against the hold on his arms and shoulders but the hands would not relent.

Westminster continued.

'The Angel Islington's right to use the Angelus is hereby revoked and he may only leave the Citadel once he shows true repentance, with the help of a keeper and fitting key to the door, which is being constructed in this very moment and shall be kept safe by the Black Friars meanwhile.

Should the Angel's Lambeth or Islington defy these orders their punishment shall be eternal containment in the prisons of the realm of shades.'

Lambeth twisted his neck to look back at Westminster and Islington.

'Westminster, please! Don't do this! Have mercy, if not with me then with your own brother! Islington! Islingto-'

The Angels holding Lambeth pushed him through the Angelus and followed him.

As soon as the door was closed the hands holding down Islington let go and Islington sprang up and ran towards his brother.

Despairingly he clutched Westmisnter's arms, tears falling freely from his eyes.

His voice was not more than a whisper.

'Please, Westminster. Do not do this. Do not take Lambeth. Please... Please!'

Only now did Westmisnter's gaze soften. He shook his head, pressed a hand against the nape of his younger brother's neck and looked him sadly in the eye.

'This is all your own fault, Islington. Yours and Lambeth's. Too often did the two of you do as it pleased you to. This is the price you have to pay.'

'But Lambeth-'

'I know you love each other, Islington. And it hurts me terribly to hurt you both in such a way. But there is nothing I can do for you any more. You see this door?'

He gestured towards a far wall. Islington turned and saw a door between two of the high pillars.

The door was black and made of steel.

It was simple, nothing fancy.

It had no handle, only a lock.

There was no key.

Islington swallowed.

'Is this to be my incentive? As I understand it, the Angelus will not open its doors for me any longer,' his voice quivered, 'How long will I have to wait for one of the House of Portico to release me? I assume it is Portico's family you meant when you said 'keeper'.'

His brother sighed and pulled him into a tight hug.

'Until you show 'true remorse'. Islington, what you did was wrong. You spent too much time Upside and lost your way. Think about your actions, be true to your duties and I promise you, you will be home again, soon.'

Islington didn't take his eyes from the black door.

'How soon?'

'That I can not tell you.'

Westminster released his hold on his brother and stepped towards the Angelus.

He turned back and saw Islington standing on the gallery, leaning heavily on the banister.

The dark haired Angel looked pale, heartbroken, and alone.

'Good luck, little brother,' Westminster whispered as he stepped through the high wooden doors.

Once the Angelus was closed, Islington walked towards it and tried to pull on the handle.

Nothing happened.

He turned around, stepped towards the black steel door and sat down in front of it.

He hugged his knees to his chest.

'Home...'

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Well, that was it for this time.

I'm sure I will learn to write longer chapters. My Beta says I am getting better at this whole writing business ^^

Stay tuned for the next and possibly last chapter!

I will give my best so it can take a while to finish.

See you!


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